10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Vincent
I wake up with a splitting headache. Worse than any hangover I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some bad ones. The first few weeks after losing Irene, I drank myself into deep stupors, like I was trying to murder myself with alcohol. I had never been in such a dark place before. I almost killed Cho for the stunt he had pulled, for taking away my last seconds with her, even though I knew Cho was doing it to save me from the cops.
My uncle had stepped in while I was beating Cho black and blue, telling me that killing the best bodyguard ever wouldn’t bring her back.
“How do you know about Irene?” I remember asking Uncle .
“I interrogated your driver,” Uncle replied. “You could kill him instead of killing Cho.”
Uncle went on to tell me that if I became head of the Black Dragon Triad, I could avenge Irene’s death. There would be no one I couldn’t touch. I would have command of all the resources I would ever need, which would come in handy since the cops couldn’t solve anything. And they tried. Even though I had the precinct captain in my pocket, I didn’t expect much from law enforcement. They have constraints.
I don’t.
After Esen found the gunmen who had shot up Irene, I had them tortured to within an inch of their lives. But they weren’t professional hitmen, just a pair of a lowlifes who would probably lose a game of blackjack to monkeys. With the heavy-duty assault weapons they were given, brains and finesse weren’t necessary. A two-year-old could have hit the intended target.
The only info they gave up was what the go-between looked like and that he went by the name Kenji. Esen managed to track down Kenji and found him rotting in a morgue in Hanoi. It’s been a dead end to this day.
Stumbling out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom and down four capsules of ibuprofen. I might need something stronger. I should be doing my morning qigong, but I won’t be able to do the movements well with the way I feel. Nauseous, I sit on the cold marble floor with my back against the wall. My head pounds too much for me to tell which part of my head hurts the most, so I try various acupressure points.
The throbbing eases enough for me to get up and stand over the sink. The doorbell rings, reverberating inside my head. Glancing at the monitor built into the wall, I see it’s Ming and buzz him in.
“You look like shit,” Ming comments after entering the bathroom.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I mumble as I splash water onto my face.
“That’s never bothered you much. We should get you checked.”
“I’ll be fine. I just woke up with a headache.”
“At least get in an acupuncture session. I can have Suyin—”
I wave him off.
Ming remains concerned as he hands me a towel. “Every time I come in, I find you in the bathroom looking like some pregnant woman with morning sickness.”
I think back to all my threats of breeding Ramona. I don’t give a shit about karma, but maybe this is payback.
“I can reschedule our visit to the new lab,” Ming suggests.
“No,” I reply, even though I wouldn’t mind extra time playing with—correction: tormenting—my pet. It’s crazy how my body starts to warm just at the thought of her, even with my head still feeling like it could implode.
“Or we can play it by ear when the time nears. Maybe you’ll feel better after some breakfast.”
But I don’t feel like eating. Sitting out on the balcony with extra-dark shades on, I have a cup of sheng pu-erh that Ming has imported from Yunnan Province, where the tea has been aged nearly two decades.
As Ming goes over the plans for the day, I take in the view of Kingston’s skyline with the Blue Mountains in the back. As my yacht pulls closer to the bustling port with its many container terminals and cargo ships, I can also see the historic waterfront district with its colorful buildings and colonial-era architecture. Across Kingston Harbour sits Fort Charles, an old stone fortress built in the 17th century, and the village of Port Royal. I wonder if Irene would have enjoyed visiting a country like Jamaica. Violent crime remains high in the country, though everyone knows better than to mess with my operations, but there’s stunning natural landscapes, a rich culture, and interesting history .
Shanghai was the farthest Irene ever got outside her hometown in Jiangxi Province. Though she once mused what it would be like to travel the world, I knew she could be equally happy living in a small village amidst the rice paddies. Having lived only in major cities with my uncle, I wouldn’t normally gravitate to more rural places like Jiangxi, but as long as Irene was happy, nothing else mattered.
Closing my eyes, I enter a partially awake state with thoughts of Irene. It’s been six years since she died, and not once has she visited my dreams.
Maybe she would if I actually visited her grave or acknowledged her memorial tablet, which goes wherever I go, but I don’t actually look at it. I promised myself that as soon as I’ve avenged her death, I’ll finally be able to face her. I might even be able to suppress my shame and guilt enough to visit her parents for the first time and confess that I’m the reason their daughter was killed. Every year, I anonymously deposit the equivalent of a million US dollars into their savings account, but I know it doesn’t make up for what I did. If I hadn’t wanted Irene for myself, she would still be alive.
By the time I decided to walk away from the Black Dragon, it was too late.
Do I wish Irene would show up in my dreams? Even though it’d only be an illusion, it would feel real. I could hold her, apologize to her, love her in all the ways I didn’t get to.
But I’m thankful she hasn’t appeared in my dreams. It would only make the agony of waking worse.
*****
Suyin, a woman nearing fifty with a slight build, shakes her head as she runs her hands over different parts of my head.
“I think acupuncture not help your headache,” she declares.
I turn to look at her from where I lay on the massage bed in my boxer shorts. “How’s that possible? It’s just a headache.”
“Yours not simple headache.”
What the fuck is she talking about? Acupuncture has always helped me with pain.
She furrows her brow. “Is more than headache.”
“Then what is it?”
She stares at me. “Only you know.”
Her gaze unsettles me, making me impatient. “If I knew, I would tell you what to do.”
“Search your soul.”
Her words give me pause as my thoughts turn briefly to Ramona.
I don’t have time for this gibberish. Sitting up, I grab my shirt. I’ll just throw down some more ibuprofen.
Dressed in a lightweight Brioni suit, I join Charlie and Yang Mi in the tender along with our security. Yang Mi sports a smart white pantsuit with sunglasses. She’s a few years older than Charlie and keeps her hair cropped short, almost like the cut Ramona has. Charlie is wearing a tailored Kiton and flashy Rolex.
Once on land, we drive to our facilities outside of Kingston. The facilities manager gives us a tour to show us the new automated systems that were recently implemented to improve the processing line for our omega blockers.
“This has significantly increased our production capacity, allowing us to meet growing demand,” he says.
He takes us into the R&D department next.
“The tests on the mice are promising for the Alpha enhancers, but the estimate is that we’re still over a year out from anything viable,” the head of R&D says.
“What can we do to speed it up?” Charlie asks.
“Right now there are a lot of side effects to our formulation. But we could expand our research team so we can run more tests.”
Charlie turns to me, but I’m not sure I want to increase my investment.
“Alpha enhancers will sell like hotcakes,” Charlie says. “What omega or beta wouldn’t want to be more Alpha? ”
“I’ll think about it,” I respond.
“We’ve got to get to this market first. The product doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“But it can’t be shoddy,” Yang Mi says. “Even though there are imitators of our omega blockers, people continue to pay a premium for ours because they trust the quality of our product.”
By the time we’re done with the tour and meetings, my headache is acting up. Charlie and Yang Mi prefer to stay at my estate rather than return to the yacht. I would, too, but I don’t feel like moving Ramona from the yacht.
“Esen finished interviewing our head of employment North America,” Ming informs me. “He can brief you when we’re back on the yacht.”
“I’m going to check on Ramona first,” I respond.
“You’re spending a lot of time with her. We could just as easily have Esen—”
“This woman almost succeeded in killing me. It’s personal. ”
Back on the yacht, I make my way to the lower level. I’ve put Ramona through more hell than most people see in a lifetime. How has she not broken for me yet? When I think about it, she’s the toughest person I’ve come across.
And the most fuckable. I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t seem to get enough of her. I don’t like that. It makes me feel she has something over on me. I have to get it out of my system. Then maybe the headaches and nausea will go away, too.
Jack walks in ahead of me and turns on the light.
“Oh, shit,” he says.
Looking past him, I see Ramona lying on her side, curled in a fetal position with her arms over her belly, foaming at the mouth.